


you still look like dynamite

by loewen_grube



Category: Paladins: Champions Of The Realm (Video Game)
Genre: Also it is seen that i am a rusty writer OOF, F/F, Fluff, Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 07:53:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15814665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loewen_grube/pseuds/loewen_grube
Summary: tyra returns, injured but just in time to celebrate an anniversary with ash.





	you still look like dynamite

**Author's Note:**

> for paladinsheadcanons, pretty much just a fluff prompt that got too long.

Tyra rarely gets invited to Ash’s office room. 

Of course, it’s not like they’ve made a habit out of it. Upon entering the relationship, Ash knew and made clear that they are still colleagues and in the Magistrate’s eyes, Ash is still Tyra’s superior, even if not directly. And while they worry a lot about any possible complications that this may ensue, most days are spent talking about work, and how they have spent their long shifts or missions, often ending in drinks, dinners, and passing out from laughing too much. 

And this may be a special occasion, Tyra thinks. She remembers it is an anniversary of sorts, but she does not remember for how long. She has already told Ash that she would be out for Sentinel-related issues for a few days, and would not be able to prepare or have anything ready. Ash, while sounding rather upset that they won’t be able to spend a day-off together, is still rather accepting, and just says to meet her after she’s finished with her duties.

And she is, after a trip to the infirmary and a  _long_ scolding. The wounds she had received during her duties were not the most easily-ignored, but she presses on. She has haphazardly compiled together a huge box of items she wanted to give Ash way before the mission, as well as a few trinkets she got during the mission. She had known Ash for a while, and knew she is surprisingly sentimental with items and associating memories, and so a care package may be something she would like. 

Carrying the box turns out to be a challenge. Not expecting herself to be injured during the mission, she thought carrying it would be a breeze, but her muscles complain with every move and all her body suddenly wants is to rest. She reaches the office door with great difficulty, and manages to knock once before barging in. 

Ash had situated herself by her desk, setting up… a meal? No, just some snacks on a tea snack rack and some coffee for both of them, and some other things…. she could hear the faint static-like noises accompanying a vinyl record playing, Ash herself was out of both her armor and army fatigues, instead has dressed herself in a plain dress shirt and darker pants, and having way more eye makeup than her standard eyeliner.

She looks amazing. It made Tyra feel bad that she came here without even preparing for it, and as she carefully lays down her huge box of gifts, she looks at herself – just dressed in her fatigues with a thick layer of bandages around her gut underneath her loose shirt.

Tyra looks up to a rather confused Ash. “Should I… go?”

“What– no!” Ash stands up from her seat and walks to the huntress. “Come here.”

Tyra does step closer, although a little hesitantly. She looks over the wonderful woman before her, and felt both wonder and guilt, suddenly unsure. “I didn’t expect you to have anything, to be honest.”

“It’s not much, really,” Ash starts, “it’s just slightly better coffee and some fancy snacks.”

“I should probably have headed back to change clothes at least,” Tyra says, somewhat mournfully. “You look… very gorgeous.”

“It’s fine! You’re here, that’s what’s important right?” Ash doesn’t even hesitate as she pulls her closer to embrace. “I missed you.”

“I know.” Laying her head over Ash’s shoulder turns out to be way more gratifying than it seems, hands around the woman and resting herself against her. Tyra could almost feel her heartbeat faintly through her bandages. “It’s been a while.”

For a few moments, the vinyl played soft, static-y music, filling the silence between them with recorded guitar strumming and the soft singing of a woman, familiar old tunes from home-bound tongues. It is not a tune that is strictly romantic, but it sounded like home, Tyra realises. Her embrace becomes tighter, and the tune suddenly becomes slightly faster, like one would hear in more livelier places.

“Can we… can we dance?” Ash breaks the silence. Tyra doesn’t see her, but she can tell from her tone she’s rather expectant. 

It takes her a few minutes before responding. “I… don’t know.”

Ash doesn’t let go for a second, and for a moment she doesn’t say anything, obviously rather confused. Her hands merely travel around Tyra’s back, until it stops and settles on the thick wrappings of bandage around the huntress’ abdomen. Realisation seems to hit the war machine, and she pulls away from the embrace slightly. 

Her eyes say a lot of things, peering towards Tyra looking for an answer. Worried, concern, a hint of anger. 

“Bullet wound,” Tyra elaborates, avoiding Ash’s rather concerned glare. “Jumped through enemy lines, I didn’t make out in time to get out unscathed. It’s not the deepest…”

“It’s okay, we can just do–”

“No.” Tyra insists, cutting Ash off. “I want to dance.”

If you don’t want to, it’s–”

“ _I insist._ ”

Ash pauses for a second, obviously at a loss on what to do, feeling the urgency of her insistence. She looks around, on the drinks she has made, and then on the vinyl player, still going at it with the pace. She pauses, and sighs, breaking off the embrace entirely. 

“Something slower, then,” Ash says. She unceremoniously yanks the disc off the player, hopefully not damaging it and stopping the music almost to a screeching halt, before picking out another vinyl off a nearby box and playing it instead, the tune slower and much like a sung poem. 

“You know,” Ash says, quickly walking back and resettling herself back in Tyra’s arms, and slowly coaxing her into a slow, swaying dance, “if you want something, I can make it happen.”

The singing from the record continues, still in the same old home language from earlier, accompanied by softer harps and a steadier harmony. Tyra follows the war machine’s lead, since these are familiar, easy steps. It’s not like the dance itself mattered, not really. It’s been a week, possibly longer, since the last time she’s held Ash. The Magistrate never sits idle, and as their campaign goes on, it takes the war machine away from what little personal time she has with her, and even just the feeling of her hands is making standing up for an extended period of time worth it if it meant catching up to lost time.

Anything to make it last longer.

“That’s  _very_ tempting,” Tyra says, softly leaning against Ash’s weight. “But this is good enough for now.”

Tyra doesn’t know if Ash didn’t have an answer for it or if she deemed it a good answer, but she stayed silent. Ash’s hands merely settled on her waist, right around the wrap of bandages, and the huntress can feel her hands find new places to settle on around her, as if unsure how close or how gentle is she being. 

In the end, she returns her hold by Tyra’s waist, brushing against the bandages, palms flat, as if she’s trying to guess where the wound exactly is as they swayed, and as Ash leaned her head against her. It is not too much of a wound, Tyra will admit, as she had far worse injuries in the past. But for it to hamper her physical strength and her personal time… it’s not the disadvantage she was hoping for. 

“I… wish I was there.” Ash breaks the silence. 

“Yeah, because you’d scold me for an hour longer.” 

Ash laughs, hearty and loud and raspy. “You don’t want me to be concerned?” 

Tyra has several answers to it, like not wanting her to get involved in duties she shouldn’t dip herself in, among other things. But she settles for a reply. “Well, it would make it a little easier for me to deal with if it’s you who’s scolding me.”

The war machine hums a rather dissatisfied noise, almost whiny. “If I’m there, you won’t be hurt in the first place.” 

Of course.

Ash has always liked protecting her. And it made sense, even though Tyra knows both of them are capable, strong warriors who can be independently amazing in combat. However, she knows that Ash didn’t earn her reputation out of thin air, and there are several things she regret in her years as a higher, decorated officer. Some people she couldn’t save, some things she’s seen best left to be forgotten.

Tyra dares not ask about them. But she knew what Ash would do if she were there.

“You’re going to be the one who’s hurt,” Tyra states, “then I will be the one scolding you.” A few moments pass with wordless dancing and Ash doesn’t answer, but she’s avoiding Tyra’s look rather guiltily, so the huntress concludes her guess was right. “I want to keep you safe too, you know.”

“I know.” The war machine closes her eyes, leans against the huntress. “I know.”

“Trust me,” Tyra says, “I will be okay. And you will be, too.”

“I trust you.” Ash smiles sheepishly. “But let me worry.”

The huntress merely smiles. “How many hours have you slept tonight, anyway? I doubt I’m the only one in this room with bad health choices.”

Ash avoids the huntress’ gaze. “I’ve been awake for fifty hours straight.”

Tyra doesn’t scold, nor laughs. Having such a reputation and being a high official is not easy work, and she knows Ash works hard to keep herself high up in the ranks. She remembers days where she would see her injured but still determined, shaking off any inconveniences that comes. Ash just… she is a very selfless woman. One Tyra is very glad to have met and loved.

But she hopes Ash would also take care of herself the same way she takes care of her.

“I can see where you’re going with this and the coffee,” the huntress comments. 

“I make time when I need to.” Ash murmurs softly, almost sleepily. “For you, especially.”

“Just promise me to sleep after this, okay?”

She doesn’t answer for a while, but Tyra later feels and hears her make an assenting noise. She doesn’t know if she should take that as a “yes”, but she does not want to ask further, letting the silence permeated by soft music take over.

The now-slow paced tune of the music taking over, their dancing has mostly reduced to an extended embrace disguised by the occasional sway or step. It didn’t really matter now, no one was really watching, and Tyra didn’t care if it was not close to a waltz. Ash is what matters, right?

Later on, the dancing had stopped, both of them choosing to put their attention on the now-cold coffee and the snacks Ash had brought along, slow music and harmonious singing still spinning by the vinyl. Tyra couldn’t count or sum up how long they have stayed there, as the night had dissolved into a blur of conversation, laughing and discussion, and while the coffee was a little cold, her company sure is not, later on putting her attention on the care package she has brought along, filled with charms, souvenirs, treats, and a few clothing and comfort items Tyra made way back.

They had seated themselves on the couch near Ash’s desk, hands touching while they talk about work, the mission, and life in general, not even noticing the recorded music stop and the mess of packaging and wrapper around them. Later on, they finish their drinks and snacks, and they spoke in hushed tones for hours, trading touches and kisses as they spoke.

None of them bothered to check what time it was. It’s not like it mattered. Both of them knew that once they part tonight, they might not see each other again for a long while, with the Magistrate pushing forward on it’s major campaign and it taking more and more of Ash’s time as a higher official and Tyra as a Sentinel. 

In the end, Ash never bothered to end the conversation, or tell Tyra to leave to prepare for the morning. And Tyra didn’t excuse herself, no matter how much her wound ached, or how much she knew she had work in the morning. It was in the middle of the night when both of them had decided to just fit each other on the couch to rest with each other, lying down and speaking softer and wearier. 

Tyra doesn’t remember falling asleep, but she wakes up a significant amount of time later, a little groggy and feeling several things ache. But upon seeing Ash close, her breathing steady and seeing her so rested, she knew she’s home. 


End file.
